


Sleeping Soldier

by AltheaShepard



Series: Soldier [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aymeric worries, Estinien needs a hug, Estnien is tired, Recovery, Trouble Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaShepard/pseuds/AltheaShepard
Summary: Estinien finds the oddest places to sleep
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel & Lucia goe Junius, Estinien Wrymblood & Aymeric de Borel
Series: Soldier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020352
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Sleeping Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This was born after a conversation about Estinien being a ferret and sleeping in odd places. Many giggle fits were had. Enjoy!

In his many years of knowing the man, it had become common knowledge that Estinien Wrymblood slept in the oddest places and positions. He, like many other knights, had mastered the art of the cat nap, able to sleep quickly and deeply enough to get what rest was afforded yet wake quick enough that there was none of the hazy film hanging around when the need arose. Only on the truly rare occasions did the man, did any of them really, ever sleep past dawn and even then they were up and out of bed within a minute of their eyes first opening. To luxuriate in bed was to invite the enemy to sneak up on you with a sword drawn and ready to plunge into your heart, flames licking at dagger sized teeth ready to burn all and sundry to the ground. Thus had Estinien and many more mastered the cat nap so as to be rested and ready when needed.

This gift, however useful, did come with some… minor draw backs. 

Most, at the very least, managed to find a bench or chair to prop themselves in while they rested. Some managed to lean against a wall in a corner so they were out of the way. Some of the officers took to napping at their desk when the need arose. Aymeric himself was guilty of it a time or two (or ten) and Lucia had simply taken to commandeering a corner when needed. Estinien on the other hand…

Hay bales were the most common place to find him napping as they were often out of the way and left undisturbed except when animals came back to their stalls for the day. One of the large windows in one of the libraries was also a favorite, legs pulled close to his chest and arms wrapped around his middle, forehead to the cool glass as he dozed. Aymeric would think it amusing (and adorable) if the man hadn’t decided to start using one of the ones higher up that was only reached by a great enough leap. He also, sometimes, slept on the bookshelves. Those occasions led him to thinking the man more like a cat as he always seemed to be sleeping in a sunbeam.

On rare occasions, Aymeric would look up from a long winded report from an officer that needed to learn the importance of editing to find the other man twisted on the small couch he had in his office for his own cat naps. The sight was (secretly adorable he would gleefully admit to himself) amusing as his hips and legs would be facing the back but his torso would be lying flat with his hands folded on his stomach. Occasionally, if he came in while Aymeric was getting his own brief respite, he’d curl up tight in the arm chair by the fire, long legs drawn up, arms nowhere to be seen and face hidden by knees and hair both. 

These occurrences became somewhat of a secret game. No one would ever admit it to the man’s face but often, when boredom struck and one was too wired for a nap, some of the soldiers would search out where the dragoon could be sleeping and then quickly report it to Aymeric. There was even a running tally he kept in his desk. Under tables was a very close third place after the windows and the bookshelves. Some poor soul had managed to find him a handful of times tucked away in a broom closet of all things. After the fifth time they had just sighed, grabbed what they needed and sent someone to find and tell Aymeric. 

And it wasn’t just Estinien that did it, he was just the one most were amused by. Spot the sleeping soldier was a common, unspoken game that new knights were startled to learn was true. So long as it didn’t get out of hand, the higher ups didn’t say a word about it. The morale boost from finding someone in an odd place helped to get one through the day sometimes. 

Though Aymeric had to thank the Fury that Harellan seemed ignorant to it. 

All of that being said, Aymeric had to admit that the worry he’d had so long ago for his friend was starting to creep back up again. The game, as amusing as it was, only added tallies rarely truth be told as the man was not often in the city during the War, especially near its end. Especially with that… unfortunate business of possession that he suspected Estinien sometimes struggled with. However, with that some months behind them and the man still on the very edge of fully recovered, it seems that his habit of falling asleep in odd places was returning. With a vengeance. 

“My lord,” Geoffery murmurs behind him as he stands in the pantry door, looking up towards the ceiling. 

“This is the third time this week alone that I have stepped into the pantry and found him there. These shelves are sturdy but not exactly comfortable. Especially for a man still healing.”

Aymeric simply hums in agreement, sighing softly and giving the other man a smile.

“I quite agree. Give me a moment or two to get him down.” 

Geoffery spares one last glance upwards before striding back to the stove, setting the kettle on the burner. The man truly is a saint, Aymeric can’t help but think as he steps into the pantry itself and reaches up towards his friend. It somewhat annoys him that he has to get to his toes to reach but when he does, he manages to snag a lock of hair to gently tug. Nothing happens at the first three except a snuffle and turning his head further into the arm it’s pillowed on. Another few, lightly enough to cause his scalp to tingle has him swatting at his own head to make it stop. Aymeric does stop, just long enough to make him think he got the irritant before he pulls again. Estinien’s head jerks up with a scowl and a thump as he forgets how close the ceiling is, his skull reminding him as it thuds into the wood. Aymeric winces a touch in sympathy as he settles back onto his heels.

“A bed would be more comfortable for you I think, my friend,” he says, earning a glare for his troubles.

“I’m not invading your room,” the other man grumbles, shifting to climb down he thinks. 

“But my pantry is free game?”

Were he a lesser man, the glare Estinien gives him would peel the skin from his bones he has no doubt. All it does instead is cause him to chuckle as he steps back to allow Estinien’s legs to slide off the shelf, his long body slithering to the ground in a move that suggests the lack of a spine. Or bones. Or a sense of balance as no sooner are his feet on the ground than he stumbles back a step to lean against the shelves. Aymeric catches his elbows on instinct, looking over his friend with worry. In the shadows of the pantry it’s hard to tell how pale his friend is but he’d guess, by the stumble, his skin is perhaps a shade or two lighter than it really should be. Slowly, he steps forward, a silent offer to brace the man disguising his barely repressed urge to run his hands over him to check him properly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, worried blue eyes darting over every inch of Estinien’s face.

His lips are slightly pinched at the corners, eyes a touch more narrow than normal. The shadows play tricks making his face look rather more gaunt, almost as they were in the infirmary a scant few weeks ago. His hands, when they reach up to grip Aymeric’s shoulders (no doubt to push him away with a grumble about crowding him) shake where they land, belying the gruff command to move. 

“I’m fine. You’re crowding me.” 

Aymeric huffs, not budging an ilm and tightening his grip on his friend. 

“Why were you sleeping in the pantry, Estinien?”

He keeps his voice soft, allowing a silent plea for an honest answer to seep into his tone. Aymeric is well known for being a mother hen, using his silver tongue and kind eyes to his advantage when needed. Normally, Estinien would be immune to it, simmply huffing and brushing the concern away. It speaks rather loudly of how exhausted the man must be for anything other than a denial to leave his lips.

“It… was closed in. And dark.” He murmurs, Aymeric having to strain his ears a touch to hear it properly. 

When the words register, a stone settles in his stomach. He can only guess why the taller man would seek out such a small, dark place to rest. Enclosed meant less room for someone to strike him. Dark meant less light to see him. High meant less of a chance to get the literal drop on him. His heart thumps hard in his chest as he makes the connections and sees the tension bleeding across Estinien’s face. No doubt he would be expecting a gentle chastisement or joke about being a cat. Aymeric instead tugs carefully on his elbows, taking a step back towards the pantry door.

“Well. I’m home now. And not like to leave unless called upon. Let us retire upstairs, hm?”

“I’ll not impose on you further,” Estinien murmurs, not moving from the shelves. 

“Tis not an imposition if I am insisting, my friend. Come. I’ve seen too little of you of late.” 

Reluctantly, and with a vaguely suspicious side eye, Estinien slowly follows Aymeric’s gentle encouragement, squinting a bit in the light of the kitchen. There’s a tray sitting on the counter, a covered pot of tea, two cups, a plate of sandwiches, and a few pastries. Geoffery is nowhere in sight. With a brief squeeze, Aymeric lets go, confident enough that Estinien won’t startle and run if there’s the promise of food (and a companion to watch his back should the need for rest take him again) and warm tea. 

“Come. I’ve no doubt there’s a warm fire waiting for us upstairs.” 

There is indeed a warm fire awaiting them in his room, crackling away merrily behind the grate. Aymeric sets the tray down on the low table before it, motioning for Estinien to have a seat. 

“Allow me a moment to change, my friend,”

The other grunts as he takes his seat, settling into the plush chair with a barely perceptible sigh of relief. No matter what he says, that couldn’t have been comfortable. Aymeric spares a glance at his friend’s ribs as he steps aside to change, fighting back the impulse to inquire again. By the time he comes back in soft pants, shirt and robe, Estinien has two cups of tea poured and is absently chewing on a sandwich, half lidded eyes watching the fire. Aymeric allows his instincts to settle as he takes his own seat, reaching for his cup. The silence between them is comforting, born of long practice and the declining need to fill it with words. Clinking tea cups, pouring tea and the creak of the chairs is all the need between them. 

Some time after the last drop of tea is consumed, Aymeric looks up from the flames to find Estinien’s arm braced on the arm of the chair, chin propped up and eyes closed, breathing deep and even. It both warms and breaks his heart to watch him, knowing that such vulnerability for him now is difficult, perhaps even impossible. Carefully, Aymeric sets another log or two on the fire, crouching in front of the chair and gently placing his hand on his friend’s knee. He startled, briefly, blinking bleary eyes open to stare down at him in confusion. 

“Come, my friend, I think it’s time for us to retire.”

“I’ll see myself out then,” Estinien mumbles after a long inhale, picking his head up and bracing his hands on the chair. Aymeric doesn’t move, though, simply smiling up at the other man.

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m going to allow you to leave. I don’t entirely trust that you won’t just curl up in the closest hay bale only to wake when some poor soul piles more hay upon it.” 

Estinien gives him a grumpy look, no doubt trying to look stern but not managing it by a malm with how clouded his gaze is. Aymeric instead stands and holds his hands down to him.

“Come. You’ll sleep in here, with me, where we can keep watch over the other.” 

Blue eyes narrow, sharpening for just a moment before shoulders heave forward with a sigh of resignation. 

“Have you something for me to sleep in?” 

Another quick change and Aymeric is gently ushering the grumpy man under the blankets. He climbs in on the other side, shifting around until he’s settled with the blankets to his chin. Estinien lies with his back to him, keeping a fair amount of space between them. As if they hadn’t shared a bed roll when they were in training before. Before promotions dragged them further away from each other, the War hardening them. It makes something in his breast twist to see how stiffly he holds himself even now when just moments before he was sleeping peacefully in the chair. 

Carefully, he reaches out a hand, grasping his friend’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, my friend,” he murmurs.

Calloused fingers gently touch his own before he pulls his hand back, a whispered return his answer. A soft, sad smile touch his lips as he leaves his hand on the bed between them, an open invitation and perhaps (hopefully) a reminder that someone lies behind him to defend him if needed. 

  
  
  


Sometime in the night, Aymeric wakes for just a moment as a weight settles on his shoulder, something wrapping tight around his waist. Mumbling something he knows not what, he tangles one hand in soft silver, the other resting over trembling skin. Lips press against a forehead and slowly, through degrees, the body settles, a long breath releasing as both settle once more to sleep. 


End file.
